The frigid night air felt like needles on Reason’s cheeks, though their shivering was hardly from the cold.

The distant clamor of voices and steel made Reason’s hair stand on end in a way it hadn’t. Even at a safe distance from the fighting, a primal fear arose within them.

Still, they walked, trusting the night to cloak them and Eden’s uncanny intuition to steer them along a safe path. It didn’t help that she seemed to reappear on Reason’s other side between sentences, though perhaps that was just part of her assessment.

Her words landed upon the carpenter heavily, even if they knew she was right.

“Shed your name. Separate yourself. Completely.”

The stars blinked coldly down, as piercing as the frost itself. At one point, Reason knew their names, but no matter how hard they tried could not recall what they were.

***

Reason muddled over the plans, drafting and re-drafting the verbiage of their proposal. They fretted over every detail, flipping unhelpfully through some of the dense books Rhyme had without avail. A half-drunk tankard of ale sat abandoned by the candle burned almost all the way down.

Felix would have good feedback, as would Graham. They sighed, letting out a breath they hadn’t realized they were holding. Even though the thought of Court instilled a sense of dread, they had nothing to fear.

Resolving to settle matters in the morning, Reason set their papers aside, took a final swig of ale, and curled up in their bed. The weariness of their body and mind quickly overtook them.

They had just shut their eyes for a moment when the curtain haphazardly covering the bed was parted. Steel glinted, affectless words reaching their ears but hardly registering. It was only when the intruder vanished that the pain hit. No words could form, and with how deep the cut was they quickly felt faint from the loss of blood.

Minutes ticked as they felt themselves slowly slipping out of consciousness.

They heard Sygrun yell, then the searing pressure of hands and cloth over their neck, soothed shortly by the nervous but determined gaze of Sister Liora at their side. Her warm demeanor steadied them in their shock as they slowly came to. She fretted, but the care was enough. Two strangers, helpless in unique ways, comforted by the other’s gentility and understanding.

Through their delirium, they managed to rasp out what happened to the passerby attempting to interrogate them.

Rhyme ran into the room in a whirlwind, panic in their eyes as they clutched onto Reason, the threat of a fiery death on their lips to anyone who would dare hurt their other half, seething that they weren’t called over quicker.

Sir Jacquelin, having sprinted to their quarters, offered to sleep at the foot of their bed, but Reason hoarsely shooed them back to their House. Reason already knew Rhyme wouldn’t abide sleep that night, and they were unwilling to let any more of Runeheim’s best defenders lose sleep over them.

They shut their eyes.

Nothing to fear.

***

Their sleep was restless and fractured.

Everything seemed to close in, an inescapable swirl of dread that threatened to consume them. They woke up frequently, chest heaving as they reached to find Rhyme’s hand, gripping it weakly until they drifted back to fraught unconsciousness.

Darkness loomed in a way that made them feel small and helpless. Shadows crept taller than the trees, slithering out from every corner and threatening to take Reason with it.

Until it didn’t.

When Reason awoke, they felt strangely serene, more worried about Rhyme’s lack of sleep than the burning sensation of the raw wound every time they shifted.

They were alive, by miracle or by design. Either way, a show of fear was a show of weakness, and Reason had no interest in that. The last time there was a threat over their life, it was because they had done something right, and perhaps that was the case this time as well.

***

Even in the daylight, the threat of violence was no less frightening.

There was a fearlessness in the Dunnick culture that felt innate, yet it was something Reason had always struggled with. To fear was to be flawed in a way that was incompatible with who they thought they should be.

Yet Reason watched Blair put herself between nearly every threat and her companions so many times the night prior, and still they were surprised when they, frankly a stranger, suddenly found themselves behind the protection of her blade.

“Stick to Friar Ciaran, and run if you have to,” was later said with an understanding Reason thought they’d never hear.

Yet Callum, who seemed to share at least some of Reason’s reservations about fighting, was never once remarked on for their lack of skill on the field. Callum cared and provided for his people in other ways, and never once did he have to prove himself through means unrelated to his skillset or shows of physical strength. Bravery was not the solution to every problem, nor was its most banal, physical form what defined the culture.

There was no fear in the face of unconditional care.

***

“We need to do this — *I* need to do this,” Reason corrected, their voice gentle. “I think it’s the right decision.”

Rhyme’s brows bunched, perhaps uncertain, perhaps sad. There was hesitation, not the first time this market, in the mage’s demeanor. They kept their gaze down as they haplessly tied a clump of straw together.

“I know it’s terrifying. I’m scared too. I want to assure you that you don’t have to do this if you’re not ready, as it needs to be on your terms. You have enough on your plate,” Reason reached out to hold Rhyme’s hands, meeting the other’s exhausted gaze. “And when you’re ready, I’ll be there. It won’t change how much I care about you, now or later. It just means I get a chance to love the version of you that you were meant to be.”

The tavern was loud, yet Reason felt deaf to the noise, focused only on Rhyme.

The mage’s voice was soft when they spoke, “I want to. It’s time.”

Whatever fear remained in Reason’s heart was gone.

***

The fire burned strong as the Hearthwise tended to it, care taken in every turn of the logs.

The jesters spoke together, though remained separate in their intentions. Their little effigies were so different, in shape and design. Rhyme’s was mostly straw, dry kindling that threatened to catch fire from the stray embers caught in the wind, with orange peel and dried moss. Reason’s was of lichen and pine, the needles still green and spry, as well as sheltered by a rounded, cloak-like maple leaf.

Yet at each effigy’s core there was a prickly blackberry branch, an acknowledgement of their shared root and shared soul. O’shea was a man driven so crazed by his pursuits, so haunted by his mistakes, and so fundamentally *alone* that it drove him to split his very soul in half.

No longer would they be beholden to a dead man’s fears. Two shattered pieces could heal, each in their own way.

Reason and Rhyme — O’shea — was carefully placed by the tender hands of the Hearthwise into the flames.

There was no sadness as the effigies turned to ash, but a hope that a new leaf could be turned. So as ash fed the farmland, so too can their past be a gentle guide on their journey forward.

Cenn and Aodhán watched the hearth as they stood, embracing who they would become.